


The Prince and the Baker

by bigfan_fanfic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:42:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigfan_fanfic/pseuds/bigfan_fanfic
Summary: In a worldstate where @herald-divine-hell's Amayian Trevelyan became Inquisitor and was made King of the Frostbacks by his wife, Leliana, the Divine Victoria, his son Esmyial eventually meets my Inquisitor, Tash Adaar, and falls in love.
Relationships: Male Adaar/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Leliana (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 1





	1. Tourney Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Restitutor_Orbis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Restitutor_Orbis/gifts).



Tash loved the night before the Grand Tourney began. He could almost feel the pent-up energy in the air, like the whole city was holding its breath, awaiting the morning. He strode through the streets of Markham Town, watching as the streets cleared. Papa and Father said he could have the first day of the Tourney off so he could watch the melee, and the final day to watch the duels, as long as he spent the second day working. While it would mean missing the jousting lists, he was willing to give that up. The lance matches did tend to get repetitive after a while, anyway. He smiled, knowing he had no where to be tonight, no ingredients to haul back to the bakery, no dough to knead so it could be baked first thing. Just walking the town, nodding to the neighbors and regular customers he saw and avoiding eye contact with strangers who might be inclined to take offense to a seven-and-a-half foot tall horned man looking at them.

At least they couldn't tell he was a mage on sight. Even with the Divine's abolition of the Circles, things were still hairy for mages out there in Thedas, even in the Free Marches. As the shadows of the night grew and the light from the lit lamps in the city waned, Tash decided he had better hurry home. No sense in tempting fate.

\---

Esmyial Trevelyan I, His Grace, Prince of the Frostbacks and son of King Amayian Trevelyan I of Skyhold, also wandered the streets of Markham. He drew the hood of his cloak over his head, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. He wished to enter the Grand Tourney on his own merit, not as the son of a king. So he had snuck away from Skyhold, no guards, no escort, no heralds announcing his presence, just a horse, a sword, some traveling clothes, and supplies for the road. He had taken the trade roads his father had set up with Aunt Josephine's assistance back during the days of the Inquisition. It had only taken a few weeks of riding to the ferry from Ferelden to the Free Marches, and a few more days into Markham. Even with the speed of his journey, he had only barely arrived before the Tourney began, and he had no lodgings prepared, as every inn within a league was completely booked up.

So, he had just resigned himself to sleeping in the street somewhere the night before the Tourney, part of a real authentic adventure, when he spotted a small group of rough-looking swordsmen suddenly speeding up.

\---

Tash heard the footsteps and forced himself to remain calm, despite his instincts begging him to unleash his magic. Who was to say that the footsteps were even coming towards him, anyway?

He winced as a hand slapped him harshly on the back. "Ho, there, ox-man. Going somewhere?"

Tash narrowed his eyes at the callous human. "Yes, I am. Please excuse me."

Another of the group stepped in his path. "Oh, look how many words the ox knows. Well, did we say you could go nowheres?"

They had surrounded him. That wasn't good. Now he couldn't even Fade Step away without them being able to claim he used magic on them, which would get him in big trouble. And he wasn't about to try and fight them hand to hand. Sure he was much taller, but there were four of them and they were armed. He sighed.

"Now, ox, you got any gold on you?"

\---

"Hey!" Esmyial charged forward, drawing his sword. "I would recommend you step away from the man."

Tash's eyes widened at the newcomer. He had dark hair, a little long and mussed that fell over his piercing green eyes, likely a young swordsman hoping to try his luck at winning glory in the Grand Tourney. He carried himself well, tall and straight, and if it weren't for the fact that he was dirty from travel and clearly dressed in simple clothes, Tash would have thought him a noble. It was like Tash's childhood fantasy had come to life. A dark-haired swordsman, handsome and noble, come to save him. The bandits turned towards him, brandishing their weapons.

"Walk away, stranger. This ain't your concern."

Esmyial glanced at the tall Qunari, his face worried. He had long brown hair tied back, and horns curving backwards like a dragon. Golden eyes urged him to save himself, to run, but he paid them no mind.

"No. You will either walk away, or you will fight me. And you will not win should you fight me."

Esmyial raised his sword as the bandit who had spoken first charged him. He parried the first blow and quickly stepped back as the other bandits tried to surround him. He shot a quick glance at the Qunari. "Run, now!"

Tash huffed. The knight - for he was sure that his savior was some sort of knight - couldn't handle so many on his own without help. And they had struck first, so as long as he had a witness...

Esmyial's sword flashed through the air as he danced around his opponents, dispatching one bandit quickly and fending off the other three. And then he felt a certain... charge to the air. As though a thunderstorm were brewing. He spared a glance towards the Qunari, whose golden eyes were glowing as multicolored sparks jumped between his hands. A mage! Esmyial ducked as soon as the Qunari nodded, and he watched the man stretch out his arms and look to the sky. Seemingly uncountable numbers of tiny meteors of energy in every color imaginable surged through the air to strike the bandits as they lunged for Esmyial, sending them flying. 

Tash lunged forward to grab Esmyial's free hand and pull him along into a run away from the bandits.

"We're running?" Esmyial called to him incredulously. "We've done nothing wrong!"

Tash somehow shrugged while running. "Yes, but we've done nothing wrong with no witnesses and by using magic, so I don't think we should hang around!"

"Who are you?"

"Tash Adaar of Markham, baker's apprentice. Who are you?"

Esmyial hesitated. "Esmyial. I'm... a swordsman."

Tash suddenly slowed, smiling. "Lovely to meet you. You must be here for the Grand Tourney."

He nodded. "That I am, Messere Adaar."

Tash giggled and blushed. "Er... is that an Orlesian accent, if you don't mind me asking? Are you a chevalier?"

"No, I'm not. I... I hail from the Frostback Kingdom."

"Oh, the Inquisitor's Kingdom." Tash nodded. "That's so interesting. Have you been to Skyhold? What's it like? Have you seen the King? He's the Divine's husband- sorry. Er... what are you doing out here so late? Shouldn't you be resting in an inn somewhere for the melee? Or do you have someone to stay with?"

Esmyial chuckled at Tash's enthusiasm. "No matter. I... To be frank, I only just arrived a few hours ago and I have been unable to find anywhere to stay."

"Well, that's settled. You can stay with my family." Tash said happily.

"I- I wouldn't wish to impose-" Esmyial hesitated.

Tash waved away his concerns. "Nonsense. It's the least I can do to repay you for saving me back there."

"I rather think you were the one who saved me."

"Either way." Tash grinned. "Besides, I get to learn all about my mysterious knight."

Esmyial raised an eyebrow and smirked. "'Your' knight, Messere?"

Tash blushed heavily, looking so bashful for such a large man. "Er... that is to say, not... not 'my' knight, just the... I mean..."

Esmyial laid a hand on his bicep, having to reach up to do so. "Peace, friend. I accept your offer." And then the smirk returned as he gave a courtly. "Your knight thanks you for your hospitality, milord."

Tash giggled at the gesture, blushing even harder as Esmyial grasped his hand and brushed his lips across the back. "I suppose now I know who I'll be rooting for at the Tourney tomorrow."

Esmyial grinned. "Ah, with milord's favor, how can I lose?"

"Oh, stop that." Tash chuckled, gesturing to the door and leading Esmyial inside.


	2. Prince in the Shadows

Esmyial had never spent the night before in a bed that wasn't of the finest materials, in rooms not designed for opulence and elegance, and he absolutely loved the experience. He had slept in a bed Tash explained belonged to his brother Arno, who was not using it, as he was traveling with a mercenary company, the Valo-Kas. It seemed Arno was human, as the bed was of normal size, compared to Tash's, which was proportionately large. 

Tash's fathers had been pleased to meet Esmyial. Kaaras, the large Qunari man, his hair salt-and-pepper and his eyes gold like his son's, his horns nearly brushing the ceiling when he stood up, had welcomed him and thanked him for protecting Tash. Colm, the baker, a blond human with a full beard and shining blue eyes, had offered Esmyial lodgings for the whole Tourney, to which he had been very grateful.

They had spent a large portion of the evening (after a hearty meal of sandwiches made with leftover bread from the bakery's sales and fresh cheeses and vegetables brought by Kaaras, who worked often as a hunter to trade with the farmers on the outskirts and selling the skins to tailors and tanners in Markham Town) simply talking to each other. Tash talked about his love of baking and reading, and how every year he went to see the Grand Tourney. Esmyial responded with stories about his parents and siblings, and his life in Skyhold, although he refrained from mentioning that his mother was the Divine and his father was the ruler of the Frostback Kingdom. Esmyial figured Tash thought him the son of some minor noble lucky enough to live in the famous castle.

Esmyial couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm Tash seemed to have for everything, whether it was talking about his daily chores or getting a twinkle in his eye listening to Esmyial's stories. And Tash admired the quiet strength and care in everything Esmyial did, whether it was neatly arranging his things at the foot of the bed or pausing for a few moments to think before responding to an excited question from the other.

They stayed up far too late into the night, learning about the other. And something in Esmyial fluttered as he listened to Tash's breathing slow and turn into soft sleeping breaths.

\---

The next morning, Tash awoke Esmyial with breakfast in bed. "You have to keep your strength up for the Tourney!"

Esmyial gratefully dug into the large plate of eggs, a pair of warm rolls beside it that he could dip into the yolks, and a small bowl of fruit with cream, a Marcher attempt at Orlesian _crème fraîche_ with berries. He glanced up to see Tash hovering somewhat nervously.

"Oh, my apologies. Thank you for the meal." Esmyial said politely, although he had already given thanks when served. He thought back to his etiquette lessons. Jacqueline always seemed to be better at them than he was. Maker, even Isalian was better at them than he was. What was it? Did Marchers only say thank you after the meal or something? Had he made some sort of horrid breach of etiquette?

"Oh, er, no, it was no trouble." Tash said, starting. "I... I know that it isn't what you're probably used to. I... I made it all fresh."

Esmyial stopped, and gave Tash a hard look. "This... is one of the best meals I've had in my life. You made all this?"

Tash's face broke out into a grin, and Esmyial's heart fluttered again. "Well, I didn't make the berries, obviously. The bushes did that. But I cooked the eggs and took the rolls from the morning batch I made, and I mixed the cream." His voice lowered conspiratorially. "I also put powdered sugar on the berries."

Esmyial chuckled and resumed eating. "It's... ah... _berry_ good."

Tash snorted in laughter. He seemed comfortable enough to go and get a plate for himself. They ate in companionable silence as the morning mist began to clear. Seeing as how his fathers had allowed him to take the day off, he offered to lead Esmyial to the registration tent, walking through the set up marketplace stands for merchants with their merchandise and makeshift barracks for competitors unable to find accomodation. There were always some on-the-day additions, he assured the young prince. 

"So... do you have a strategy for the Tourney?" Tash asked, tilting his head. "Any allies you're planning to team up with? Are you fighting with a house or company?"

"No... not exactly." Esmyial said, the nervous jitters growing in his stomach. Being with Tash had completely made him forget about his nervousness. "I'm a freelancing sword."

"Ah." Tash said, grinning. "A mysterious knight of mysterious origins. That's good. Most of the fighters will wait to engage you, see what you do first. Freelancers are the wild cards of the melee. That gives you an advantage. Trust me; I've been watching these since I was old enough to watch things."

Esmyial smiled, only to frown as he noticed Tash looking at him appraisingly. "What? What is it?"

"You need something to help you stand out. The crowd's interest _does_ , in fact, play a role. You're going to have a hard time winning if they're pelting rotten vegetables at you because someone more interesting is in the ring."

Esmyial's eyebrows raised. "I've never been to the Tourney. They do that?"

Tash nodded. "They like doing it to nobles who do fancy moves and let their house guards do the real fighting. We Marchers have kind of a thing against nobility. Another advantage of being a freelance fighter. It's not just me who enjoys the idea of the wandering knight. We need something special to help you stand out, like a crest or something."

"Or a favor?"

"That could work. Something in bright colors, maybe a deep red or a sharp green..." Tash seemed lost in fantasy for a moment as he imagined the possibilities, before returning to reality. He glanced around and quickly ducked towards a stall selling bolts of cloth, grabbing a shiny strip of green silk and slamming a copper piece on the seller's bench before the merchant could protest.

"This is the armor you're wearing?" Tash asked.

Esmyial nodded. "Yes."

Tash smiled. "Great." He brought the strip of silk up to his face and slowly breathed over it. Esmyial felt the surge of magic and saw a vague haze spreading across the cloth before it cleared. Tash quickly tied the cloth strip around Esmyial's bicep, the tails of the knot just enough to flutter artistically but not get in his way. "There. I placed a barrier on it so it won't get dirty and will keep distinguishing you."

Esmyial smiled. "So... this is my lord's favor, yes?"

"Oh... er... I... if you want it to be, I suppose?" Tash said, blushing deeply.

Esmyial's smile became a smirk. "I believe I do."

"Er... then a favor it is."

Esmyial ran his fingers through the tails of the silk bolt. "Then I shall return this to you along with my victory in the melee. I will seek you out in the stands."

Tash smiled. "I'll be right under the box for the royal guests."

"I shall dedicate my victory to you, my lord." Esmyial said, starting to chuckle.

Tash giggled and nodded. "Well, hurry, or you won't be able to get in!"

\---

Esmyial glanced around anxiously as the competitors were led onto the field designated for the melee. They were meant to wait there while the royal guests were announced. There was a lot of buzz this year, but Esmyial kept his eyes focused on the area below the royal box, searching for Tash. His anxiety melted away, and he even flashed a confident smile at the Vashoth, who had politely squashed himself into a single seat above the jostling groundlings, his height meaning he almost scratched the bottom of the royal box with his horns.

Marcher ruler after Marcher ruler was announced. Lord Tethras, Viscount and the dark-haired Messere Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall earned a round of applause from the crowd. Esmyial's grin vanished. He hoped that Varric wouldn't recognize him. 

\---

"Remind me, Varric, why we come to these things?"

Varric sighed at his lover's reluctance. "Come on, Cal, you've been a Marcher for years, it's like Fereldans and their dogs. This is our dogs."

"I wish. It would be a whole lot more interesting if there were dogs involved."

"You never stop talking, do you?"

"You wrote me that way." Hawke teased, sticking out his tongue. Varric jabbed him in the sides, making the Champion bark with laughter in a most undignified manner.

\---

And Queen Ava of Starkhaven, the other Champion, was announced alone due to King Sebastian staying behind to manage a revolt. Esmyial had had quite the crush on her when he was little. He was now struggling not to hide behind the burly Fereldan beside him, knowing that Ava, as a close friend of his father's, would certainly recognize him.

\---

"Brother."

"Sister. So you got roped into this thing, too?"

Varric sighed loudly. Ava smiled at him. "Yes, but unlike you, I didn't get to come with my husband, so stop complaining."

Cal grumbled a little.

"So, it's been a while."

"Yes, well, we've all been busy. Although, I have heard a certain bit of news..."

"What's that?" Cal wondered.

"Oh, right. You mean the... guest coming to the Tourney." Varric nodded, tapping his nose.

Ava grinned. "Right. I knew you'd know, Varric. You have nearly as many informants as the Inquisition used to."

Cal pouted. "You both are doing this on purpose, and I hate it."

"But we just gave you a hint!" Ava teased. "But you had better figure it out in the next five seconds.

Cal's eyes widened. "Wait a minute... Amayian's coming here?"

\---

Esmyial gasped as he heard the trumpets. This was not something he had expected.

"King Amayian I of the Frostbacks!"

The crowd glanced in shock as the former Inquisitor walked into the royal box. And Esmyial turned pale as Amayian's gaze settled directly on him without a trace of surprise. He smiled inscrutably, and Esmyial's heart nearly stopped as his eyes focused on the silk strip around his bicep, and then slid to look right at the back of Tash's head. Esmyial shook his head, trying to convey everything he wanted to say in that small desperate look.

Amayian inclined his head, eyebrow raised. He looked back at the Vashoth in the stands, who was unaware of the interest the Divine's husband was taking in him, who gave Esmyial an encouraging wave. The look on his face was clear. _We will talk about this later._

He had wanted to escape his father's shadow, the shadow of being the heir to the throne of Ferelden, the shadow of the Sunburst Throne his mother sat on. He wanted to win the Tourney as himself, not as Prince Esmyial. But it now seemed foolish that that could be possible. He liked who he was without the worry of who he was expected to be. The way he was talking with Tash late into the night, or walking in the morning, flirting without having to worry about political alliances and slighting the heirs of such-and-such. And yet, his father had not exposed him yet. 

He considered the facts. He liked the Vashoth son of a baker and a hunter living in the Free Marches, and he was the Prince Esmyial, heir apparent to His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin. He had run away from home to participate in the Grand Tourney. His father would already be livid. And now he wanted to somehow convince his father not only to not drag him back to Skyhold, but to allow him to stay and fight in the Tourney as a freelancer, and to stay in the house of a baker.

Esmyial felt like borrowing the words of Varric. "Well, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Ava and Cal Hawke, my OCs, Amayian Trevelyan, @herald-divine-hell's Inquisitor, and mentions of Jacqueline and Isalian Trevelyan, @herald-divine-hell's OCs.


End file.
